


starbound

by aliferously



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ANYWAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND LOGAN THIS IS FOR U, M/M, Multi, also logan and romans relationship is ???? idk to do pairing or not????? bc its not romantic AHA, but deceit goes by damian for the majority of this fic, but if logince in any form isnt ur cup of tea then be warned whoop, mentions of remus but he doesn't actually show up, oh this has spoilers for putting others first, there's talk about suicide and death but only because they talk about romeo and juliet which. yknow, wow bookclub, wow books, wow famous deceit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24260740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliferously/pseuds/aliferously
Summary: Damian Silver, known in the media as Deceit, has a secret. Every Sunday, he slips away to a bookclub of four: Roman Prince, a rising singer/actor; his brother Remus, an artist; and the reason Damian keeps coming back: Patton.Damian's enamored with Patton, so, naturally, he doesn't tell him who he is. And Patton doesn't listen to the kind of music Damian releases, so there's little chance of Patton recognizing him -- after all, Patton's blind, and Roman and Remus have promised to keep their lips sealed.But Damian can't keep his secret forever, no matter how much he wants to keep his perfect Sunday bubble in tact.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 17
Kudos: 126





	starbound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosegoldroman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/gifts).



> this is a birthday present for my absolute FAVORITE person <3 it's late, but also like.... 10k longer than i aimed for, LOL OOPS
> 
> i LOVE U and happy belated birthday bro!!!!
> 
> *edit 5/27/2020; a few paragraphs fixed for realism.
> 
> *edit 7/16/2020; a few paragraphs added bc yes.

“Deceit! Deceit! Sign my shirt!” 

Damian sighs, a placating grin comfortably settling on his face. “Now now, there’s a signing tomorrow afternoon. You _know_ I hate to keep you all waiting, but I want to give you my full, undivided attention. You deserve nothing but the _best_.” He waits as the small crowd falls apart at his words, cries echoing through the streets. 

He smiles. 

“Time to go,” Logan says. He directs Damian towards a waiting car with shaded windows. 

“I’ll see all you lovelies later,” Damian says, voice dripping with honey. With a halfway bow, he ducks into the back of the car. Their squeals and yells cut off as the door slams shut. Damian sighs, sinking into the back of the seat. 

“I apologize for that,” Logan says, slipping into the seat beside him. He closes his eyes, adjusting his glasses. “Someone got a picture and posted it on twitter before we could stop them.” 

Damian doesn’t say anything, staring out the window. Then he glances at Logan, dyed blond hair flicking into his eyes. “Will we lose them?” 

“We’ll have a car transfer at the car park,” Logan says. “And, of course, we’ll enter through the back door, and watch the media, as always.” 

Damian hums. 

The driver, a silent woman named Trisha, pulls into an out of the way entrance, concealed as an alley. They pull in front of a gate, where she rolls down the window. “Black chickadee,” she says. A small grinding noise precedes the resulting translucent pad that appears. She presses her thumb against it. 

The gate opens and they pull through, entering a placebo parking lot used by many other celebrities. Under the shade of towering buildings beside them, Damian exits the black vehicle and enters a slate gray one, the transfer smooth with the ease of repetition. 

“You ever regret working for me?” Damian asks as he switches into a different shirt in the back of the second car. 

“Every day,” Logan replies without missing a beat, pulling a gray hoodie over his face. 

From there, it’s almost easy, driving to the library and slipping in the back door, hat pulled over his hair and guarding his face. 

Logan follows him, his own outfit changed to the gray hoodie, dark jeans, and converse. As they enter the building, his severe expression melts into one of amused exhaustion, appearing, for all intents and purposes, a college student. 

Damian shakes out his shoulders, an easy, small smile gracing his lips. The library exudes comfort, but not from the quiet, page-scented air -- here, he doesn’t feel like _Deceit_ , pop-punk celebrity, top bachelor of the month running. 

He just feels like Damian Silver, the boy who grew up in the streets of Chicago. 

(Of course, they have an agreement with the library to provide confidentiality in exchange for funding and increased security). 

Damian wanders over to a door, shooting Logan one last look. Logan nods at him. 

Damian opens the door as Logan settles at a conveniently placed table, notes spread about him. 

Damian wants to say the notes are fake, and just for show, but his friend (who technically holds the title of Defensive Unit and Advisor, but was like a badass secretary) is an absolute _nerd_ and is probably researching something equally cool and boring. 

“Hello,” Damian says. He can’t help his smile from growing, comfort glowing in his chest. 

The man in the room, stationary at a smooth-topped wooden table, turns towards him. He beams, eyes milky white. “Hi! You’re here!” 

“I always am,” Damian says. He sinks into a chair opposite to him. Fortunately, the table isn’t obnoxiously large. He likes being as close to him as possible. 

“You are,” the man confirms. His entire face is lit up, like Damian just showing up makes his day. 

The warmth in Damian’s chest spreads. Standing in front of millions of cheering, adoring fans can’t elicit this kind of response. 

Only him. 

“Just for you, Pat,” Damian says. 

“It’s okay if you miss one or two,” Patton says. “I love you being here, but you’re a busy man! Remus and Roman don’t show up as much anymore because their jobs are picking up.” 

“I could never leave you alone,” Damian says, the words slipping from his mouth, unbidden. Patton’s resulting glow is worth the sap, though. “Besides, it’s not too much trouble.” 

An image of Logan clubbing him upside the head fills his mind's eye at the words, but he can’t help it. He hates seeing Patton’s concern directed at him. 

“Okay, if you say so,” Patton replies, fully trusting. “Did you finish Romeo and Juliet?”

“Of course,” Damian says. He smiles at Patton, and even if Patton can’t see the emotions etched across his face, he loves being able to just _exist_ in Patton’s presence. 

And he did finish it, even though he’s recording an album right now and has to make appearances all over the city and country regularly to maintain popularity. Logan caught him many times passing out over the book when he tried to squeeze it in after an event performance or showing at a party or whatever else is on Damian’s never-ending agenda. 

His entourage of workers, from his makeup artists to the tech crews to the recording company’s employees have all spotted him trying to push a few more lines, a few more pages, a few more chapters towards the end of the story. His breaktime was filled with Logan trying to stuff water down his throat and Damian holding the book at arms length, trying to take in as many words as possible. 

“Oh, yay! I know we weren’t supposed to be _totally_ done with it at this point, but I just had to keep going,” Patton gushes, elbows against the table. “It’s so hard for me to press pause!” 

“I know what you mean,” Damian says. “I enjoy Shakespeare’s way of writing, it makes you think instead of being able to simply glean meaning by immediately comprehending the texts.” 

“I had to look up so many turns of phrase from Shakespeare,” Patton confesses, a light blush flickering across his cheeks. “I’m not smart enough to just know what’s going on at the get go.” 

“But Patton, that’s the beauty of it, in this day and age,” Damian says. He leans forward. “Shakespeare didn’t write in colloquial terms, even from his times. Sure, the audience of that time would understand the references and metaphors more readily than we do, but his writing in and of itself is a success story.” 

“That’s beautiful,” Patton says, voice quiet and soft. He smiles. “You make everything sound so lovely, Damian.” 

Damian smiles, a sour note chiming in his throat. _Donned with the silken voice of a siren, “Deceit” Damian Silver dazzles millions with his ability to create beauty from nothing._

“That’s what I believe, anyway,” Damian says. “Besides, you’re plenty smart.” 

Patton smiles, but the edges are tinged with sadness. “Thanks.” 

“And I’m assuming you knew the ending before reaching it?” Damian says. He’s here to talk books and stare unapologetically at Patton’s beautiful face, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to do both. 

Damian joined the book club three months ago, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

“Yes, but I was still devastated!” Patton says, eyebrows furrowing. “I was rooting for them. I wanted a happy ending.” 

“But isn’t it a happy ending in it’s own right?” Damian says. He grins. “After all, they both died. Neither has to live with the other. That was the whole point of Juliet following her lover, yes?” 

“I don’t know,” Patton says. He taps against his lips thoughtfully. Damian’s gaze tracks the movement, flushing. “Shakespeare likes to kill a lot of people, like lots of deaths demeans the effects and reaction to death itself, but it’s still horrific. I don’t think… either of them should have killed themself when they discovered that their lover was supposedly dead. Especially Romeo. Because, he could still craft a life. Juliet I understand more, because she witnessed the death of not only her lover but also her way out of a tragic future, but she still could have, I don’t know. Done something. Life can get better. Death is just a stopping point before you find out how.” 

Damian stares at him. He’s written five songs directly about him and three more simply inspired by the feeling and space Patton filled. One is already released. One is being released in his new album. Three are too offbrand for him to consider releasing as a continuation of his discography, even if he’s rallied for an album about the whims of love. The others he holds close to his chest, unwilling to sing them anywhere other than the depths of his home with his old guitar. 

The inklings of inspiration leak from his mind to his fingertips and he itches for a pen and paper. 

He wants to write another. 

Patton does this to him. 

They chatter about Shakespeare for a few minutes more before the conversation trails into random topics Damian scarcely thinks about but comes up with opinions on the spot, just to see Patton’s eyes crinkle in laughter or his nose scrunch up in thought. Damian catalogues all of Patton’s ticks. Fingers brushing against his cheekbones, gentle adjustments of his glasses. How his entire body presses forward whenever he remembers a particular point, eyes wide. 

He can’t… Damina doesn’t know what he’d do, without this. Without Patton as his muse, without Patton as his _friend_. 

Which is why Patton still doesn’t know his last name. 

And it’s fine -- it’s _fine_. Damian has it under control. Logan helps him, Trisha helps him. 

Then his watch beeps, his heart dropping with every note. 

“Ah, that’s… my time’s up,” Damian says. He smiles, every chord of frustration and sadness shining through. Patton reaches forward and Damian catches his hand halfway. 

Patton smiles, and the world glows a little brighter. “I’ll see you next week?” 

Damian opens his mouth to declare a resounding _yes_ but pauses. Next week. Next week… 

_The opening_. His music is featured in an upcoming blockbuster and he has to go to the premiere. Weights hang off of Damian’s arms, sinking his body back to earth. He exhales. There’s a luncheon party beforehand and then the movie itself and it lands all on the exact same day as the book club. 

“I…” Damian says, for lack of anything else to say. He’s wracking his brain for some way out, some way to slip past, to not show. 

His publicity team hasn’t budged yet, but maybe he could implore, promise to do an extra signing or meet and greet, maybe post more on twitter, or, or, or _something_. Something. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Patton says. He’s smiling, and Damian’s heart squeezes. _Fuck_. He needs -- he can’t -- 

_Invite him. You have a plus one._

Damian’s entire body freezes up. No. _No_. He can’t let Patton into this life. He won’t. 

“Okay,” Damian says. _Say something else. Tell him you want to see him but can’t. Tell him._ Tell him!

But they’re just _excuses_. Damian would rather die than give Patton some measly excuse. 

He would rather _go to the bookclub_ than some premier of a movie Damian is involved in. 

“I’ll contact the twins and let them know,” Damian says. He stands, reluctantly, as Logan knocks on the door. “Until we meet again.” 

Patton giggles, fingers pressing against his lips. Damian wonders at Patton’s open, endearing expression. He’s struck, again, with the wish to stay and drink in Patton’s expression all evening. To take him to dinner and coax that laugh out. 

Damian moves without thinking, reaching forwards and taking Patton’s hand, gentle as can be. He leans forward and brushes his lips against the back of Patton’s hand. 

He glances up to see Patton frozen, smile melting into wonder, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink. 

“Goodbye,” Damian says. He almost said _farewell_ but he thinks that would be -- that would be laying it on a little thick. He can barely swallow past the lump in his throat as it is. 

If Patton could _see_ how flustered he is, right now, Damian doesn’t think he’d have the guts to kiss Patton’s hand. Ever. 

And, he hates leaving Patton in the room, alone, but Logan _knocked_ and Patton didn’t stand, maybe he’s… reading something else. Meeting with someone else. Damian wouldn’t be surprised; Patton is a magnetic force. He doesn’t _like_ imagining other people soaking up his sunlight, but he doesn’t lie to himself, either. 

People love Patton. 

_People magnet_ , Damian muses to himself as Logan leads the way, Damian following absently. _Drawn without care, an unknown force_. 

They get into the car and Logan wordlessly hands him a notebook and a pen. Damian flips to the next blank page, fingers motionless for a few pointed seconds. 

Then black ink spills across the page. 

Damian doesn’t -- _can’t_ \-- know exactly what he’s writing. He’s staring at nothing, his hand moving of its own accord. Half the page is filled before Damian registers the first words. 

“Your muse is certainly something else,” Logan says. He nods at the notebook as Damian stares at him blankly. “Third time today.” 

Damian glances at his notebook, flips back a page. Then another. And another. _Fuck_. 

He groans. “Logan. I’m in way too deep.” 

“You’re telling me,” Logan mutters. He taps Damian’s knee in an odd form of comfort. “You’ll be fine. For all my years of working with you, you always pull through. It’s admirable.” 

“I want to get out of the premiere next week.”

“I take it back. You’re a complete disgrace,” Logan says flatly, smoothly. He sighs. “That’s not within my jurisdiction, but I will have to deal with the fallout.” 

“I don’t want to go,” Damian says. He winces, turning to stare out the window. 

He just _knows_ Logan raises an eyebrow at that. “Thank you for your input. Your schedule doesn’t change because of your feelings, I hate to say.” 

“It’s my music, can’t they just, take it and let me be?” Damian sighs. He leans against his fist. “I’m not much of a punk artist if I don’t break the rules every so often.”

“In terms of resisting the higher powers, yes, that would track,” Logan says. “But you’re being dramatic. It’s a party and a movie.” 

“But Patton,” Damian counters. 

“Just invite him.” 

Damian turns. He stares. He cocks his head. “Logan.”

Logan sighs, rolling his neck in preparation. “Damian. I’m not going to listen to another--”

“--Patton can’t find out I’m Damian _Silver,_ are you _crazy?_ ” Damian bursts. His hands wave through the air. Logan leans back against his seat, eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “I’m _famous!_ If Patton knew he would treat me differently, and if the _world_ knows that Patton was -- is -- important to me, then his life is _over!_ I can’t do that to him, I could _never_. I care way too much about him.” 

Logan inhales through his nose, exhaling slowly. “I’m aware. Thank you for the update, Damian.” 

“You made a stupid suggestion,” Damian said. He resolutely ignores Logan’s piercing gaze as it swivels to his. 

Thankfully, Logan’s been dealing with Damian’s shit since the beginning of time, practically, so he just says, “Watch it.” 

Damian presses his lips together. 

\--

“Patton, bro, come listen to my interview!” 

“Okay!” Patton calls out. He closes one of his very few braille books, running his fingers along the worn spine before placing it on his bedside table. His hand instinctively reaches out for his cane even though in his apartment, he scarcely needs it anymore. 

But, with Roman here -- it would be wise to have. Roman tends to put various objects on the ground without thinking. 

As Patton meanders into his living room, Roman regals him with benign conversation about the interviewer, a pretty woman with big hooped earrings. 

“She sounds lovely.” Patton nods, finds the couch, and settles next to Roman. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

“My soundbites are _fire_ , just listen, listen.” Roman presses play, leaning back and pressing their shoulders together. Patton listens carefully, cataloging every word Roman says and running the phrases through his mind. 

He nods and hums at all the right moments. Roman’s practically buzzing with energy next to him, and when the interview video ends, he leaps to his feet, crowing. “Hell yeah! So good! I’ve seen quotes _everywhere!_ I am a _god_ . I am the best singer slash actor in the _world_.” 

“That was super good!” Patton says, cheering. “I especially love the bit about inspiration, and drawing from everyday people.” 

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Roman says. Patton can’t see where Roman is (sometimes he can see _really_ bright lights, but otherwise -- nothing) but he can tell, generally, where Roman is standing. The soft thumping of his socks on the carpet tells Patton that Roman’s shuffling or bouncing with an infectious joy Patton can feel settling in his veins. 

“You’re getting better and better at the whole fame thing,” Patton praises. 

Roman leans forward and kisses Patton on the forehead. “Patton!” He makes an excited noise. “I’m famous! I’m getting interviews and I’m _slam dunking_ the questions! Up top!” 

Patton raises his hand and Roman, as expected, slams his palm against Patton’s. They cheer, together, and then Patton hears a tinny voice in the background; did Roman forget to turn off the autoplay on his youtube--?

_“Here with Damian Silver, known most regularly as Deceit. Damian, you don’t often have interviews, why is that?”_

Patton’s only absently listening; it’s hard not to, his hearing catches things others don’t, and he just filters it through his mind, storing thoughtlessly in short term memory to fizzle out in a few minutes. 

_“That’s true, I don’t tend to interview -- I find it conflicts a lot with my image.”_

Patton doesn’t think he’ll forget these words any time soon, though. 

“What’s--? Oh, _shit_ , shit, shit.” The words fall from Roman’s lips like rain. Patton can hear them hit the ground, _plonk, plonk, plonk._

_“You agreed to an interview now, why?”_

_“Well, I’d like to discuss a new album. I know I only released one a few months ago, but I’ve been putting together--”_

The sound cuts off. Patton knows Roman’s standing there, phone held limply in his hand. He knows, but everything feels so much darker than usual. Like when he first started going blind and wherever he went he just felt the walls closing in around him, like when the only time he could be calm was sitting outside with the wind on his skin. 

It’s like -- everything makes _sense_ , in the corner of Patton’s mind. It makes sense. But he doesn’t -- he still doesn’t -- 

Patton inhales deeply. The exhale is just as slow. Roman’s dead quiet. He can hear the air conditioning humming, the clicking of the dishwasher. If he strains, he can piece together birds, outside, singing. 

“Damian Silver,” Patton says. He tries the name out. He recognizes the name, in an absent way. He’s famous. Like, _famous_ , famous. Because Roman is well known -- he’s _famous,_ in the way many rising stars are. People in the business know of you, people out have never heard your name. Roman can still go to the store and, most of the time, not be recognized. 

But Damian Silver… _Deceit_ … 

Is the same Damian who reads -- who reads _Shakespeare_ with him? Who discusses the morality of dual suicide in a closed in room with _Patton_ , Patton alone? 

There’s a few more beats of silence. Tension is buzzing against his skin, through his nerves. “You knew.” 

“Yeah.” Roman doesn’t deny it, not for a second, and something in Patton eases. Just a little. 

“Why?” 

There’s movement. Roman shuffling back and forth, running his hands together, rubbing his palm against his face. “Damian didn’t want you to know.” 

“That’s how you know him? Through show business?” _Through being famous_ , Patton doesn’t say. The words hang in the air between them anyway. 

“I mean, sort of?” Roman sighs. Patton can hear him rubbing at the back of his neck, movements scratchy as he catches hair against his fingertips. “He was trying to get away from the paparazzi and recognized me, so I waved him into the library. It happened to be book club day, and he needed to vanish, so I invited him.” Another breath. “Then he just kept coming back.” 

Patton blinks. He should be crying, shouldn’t he? Probably? Since he discovered that the person he’s -- enamored with, the person he wants to hug and touch and map his face with his lips, he’s… a celebrity? Since Damian lied to him, is still lying to him? Through lies of omission?

But all he feels is confusion, and a little bit of hurt and betrayal. But mostly, the only thought running through his head is… _why?_ Why would Damian return to their little book club, when he could spend his Sundays on much more exciting activities? Why wouldn’t Damian _tell_ him? Does Damian not trust Patton, not trust him to keep his stupid mouth shut? 

_Ah_. Patton bites at his lip, feeling a wavering sort of wetness on his eyes. There the tears are. 

“Patton,” Roman breathes. He moves. Patton feels softness brush against his cheeks, under his eyelids as Roman clears his tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should have told you.” 

“You should have,” Patton agrees. But he sniffs, and says, “but you were just keeping someone else’s secret. I’m not mad at you.” 

“Alright.” Roman sits back next to Patton, lining their sides up perfectly. He’s steady, fingers gentle against his jaw. “Are you mad at Damian?” 

“A bit,” Patton says. He breathes. “But he just… didn’t want me knowing he was famous, right? Wanted me to get to know him as _him_ , not as the -- sensational -- I don’t know, what words do they use for him?” he laughs, and though it falls a little flat, he’s still comforted by his ability to. 

“Sensational is pretty accurate,” Roman muses. “Well, you wanna know why he can’t make book club this Sunday?”

“Mm?”

“He has to go to the premiere of a movie his music is featured in,” Roman says. “There’s a party before it and everything.” 

Patton blinks. 

A laugh startles out of Roman. “Why are you smiling so widely? What’s wrong?” 

“I thought he had a date!” Patton cries, suddenly, embarrassment flowing freely. Heat flickers at his ears, crawling down his neck. “He was acting all sketchy about it! I thought he had a date and didn’t want to tell meee.” 

“Oh my _god_.” Then Roman’s laughing too, forehead against Patton’s shoulder. “You’re such a disaster.” 

“Wait, wait, is he -- is he still single? Is he seeing anyone?” 

Roman bonks his head against Patton’s shoulder. “You think you’re sly.” 

“I really don’t.” 

“As far as the tabloids know, he’s dating… hm… he’s dating that one bassist, Nate, and having a fling with his executive producer, and -- oh! We were seen in public together, so I’m his side piece.” Roman explains. Patton can _feel_ the cocky grin against his shoulder. 

Patton whines, shoving Roman away. “You’re so mean!” 

“But as far as _Damian_ is aware…” Roman drawls. “He’s perfectly single.” 

“But now I know I don’t have a _remote_ chance!” Patton says. He sighs, leaning forward and resting his chin on his palm. “Before I thought I had to worry about him being really pretty and funny and electric, because obviously everyone has to love him, he’s so cool! But now I have to worry about him being famous and _knowing_ that _everyone_ wants him? Roman! Stop laughing at me, this is _serious_.” 

“I can’t -- I can’t help it,” Roman gasps, breathless. He’s warding off Patton’s hands, dissolving into giggles. Patton can’t help his own smile from growing, then forces a frown, not wanting Roman to feel like he won. 

“I’ll bet there’s a ton of fanfiction about him too,” Patton says, pouting. “He’s probably one of _those_ singers. The ones that everyone’s obsessed with.” 

“Not you, I guess, since you haven’t heard his -- oh my god, oh my god, I know what we need to do.” Roman pushes off the couch, reaching for something. Tapping -- oh, his phone -- and then the opening chords of a song. 

It’s powerful, loud, and gritty. Not usually the type of music Patton listens to. 

“Okay, I’m like, eighty five percent sure this song is about you,” Roman says. He cranks the volume up, leaning back against Patton so he can hear better. “I couldn’t show you any of his songs before because -- duh -- you would find out. But now I get _all the revenge_.” 

“For what?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Roman says, waving his hands. “Just listen.” 

So Patton listens. He tries to make out every word but misses a few, lost in the dredges of the music. They’re lovely words for the intensity of the song -- singing about lost days, lily pads, the sun beating down on rusted metal. There’s a build up, and Patton prepares for a drop filled with riffs and blaring drums and a pounding baseline. 

But everything just… _drops_. There’s nothing, a singular note, and then Damian -- Patton knows it’s him, Patton could pick his voice out of a crowd easily -- Damian starts singing. 

And it’s nothing like he’s ever heard before. 

_“But you don’t know who I am,”_ Damian croons out of Roman’s speaker. “ _So I’m left with what ifs, I’m left in the dust. But I’ll never forget, the first night that we touched._ ”

Patton squeaks. Roman thinks this is about _him?_ How? In _what world--_

_“Even if you never see me, I’ll burn you in my memory, and I’m honored to be able to do so much.”_

The song drops again, falling into the heavy beat of before. Everything is tinged in gold. Patton doesn’t… 

The song ends, and the first words out of Patton’s mouth are, “That’s not about me.” 

“Are you kidding? It’s absolutely about you!” Roman protests. “ _Even if you never see me_ \-- Patton! _I’m left with what ifs_ \-- he doesn’t think he can be with you because of his popularity, so he just dreams about it. The chorus literally refers to _possibilities,_ and here’s -- okay. Listen.” Roman shifts, turning towards Patton. 

Patton blinks. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Roman, and then instantly feels odd about that. 

“This song came out as a single like last week, but he says he wrote it like… two months ago. When we were reading _Tuck Everlasting_ , and the two of you spent _literally hours_ talking about the possibilities within that story. Like, if she should’ve drank from the spring, if he should have moved on to someone else, if he was being selfish -- god, Remus almost ate a table leg he was so bored.” 

Roman took a breath. “But you kept saying the memory of her was enough for him, and Damian started saying he never should have involved her in the first place because it’s selfish. I know the parallel is a little off, but c’mon, Patton, this song is so similar. It’s about memory, it’s about what _could be_ or what _could have been_. Written at the same time.”

“Still…” Patton says weakly. 

“If you can’t accept that it’s _about_ you, then you have to acknowledge that you’re at least his _muse_.”

“Maybe he just really likes the book?” 

“Nooo,” Roman groans. “You’re hopeless. I’m calling Damian.” 

“No no no no no no don’t do that!” Patton jumps at Roman, reaching for where he _thinks_ Roman’s phone is. His fingers catch the edge of glass. _Bingo_. 

“It’s for your own good -- hey!” Roman yelps as Patton all but climbs over him to snatch the device out of his hand. 

“Don’t you dare,” Patton says. “No.” 

“Wait, wait, Patton, I have the best idea,” Roman says. He stops wrestling with Patton. “You’re like, pissed that Damian kept this from you, right?” 

Patton frowns. “I don’t know if pissed is the right word. I’m not _happy_ , but I understand why he did it. Why?” 

“Please. Please let me post a picture of you on twitter that says _I see you, @DamianSilver_. Please. Oh my god it would be so funny.” 

Patton pauses for a few moments. He considers the fallout. “Damian follows you on twitter?” 

“Yessir,” Roman says. 

A few more beats, then, “Let’s do it.” 

\--

To say Damian’s heart drops out of his chest would be an understatement. 

_I see you?_ What the fuck does that mean? And it’s on Roman’s public twitter, too (Damian follows both his public and private. Who wouldn’t want to see Roman’s three am rambles about the Great Gatsby?). And it’s tagging Damian’s _public_ twitter, too. If he tagged his private, Damian wouldn’t give it a second glance, but… 

_I see you._ What the fuck. What the fuck?

“Can you stop staring at your phone and let me debrief you?” 

“Logan,” Damian says. He continues staring at his phone. “I think Patton knows who I am.” 

“Great. No more secrets. Now, make sure that you know the actors’ names, I can’t have another Percy Ryder debacle,” Logan says. When Damian doesn’t look up he snaps his fingers in front of Damian’s face. “Silver. Pay attention.” 

Damian slowly looks up from his phone, staring blankly at Logan, whose eyebrow is twitching. Damian opens his mouth. “Patton… might know that I’m Deceit.” 

“I heard you the first time,” Logan says. His glare has strayed into dangerous territory. Damian can’t seem to register the impending doom. 

“He hates me,” Damian says. His phone hangs limp between his fingers. “Oh my god. He’s never going to want to see me again. Or, worse, he’s going become obsessive over my music and my fame and he’ll never be genuine again.” 

“Patton? Ingenuine?” Logan repeats, incredulous. 

“And then I’ll lose my -- best friend, is Patton my best friend? Logan, is Patton my best friend?” 

Logan stares at him. Damian blinks. “Wait, you’re my friend too. Are you offended?”

“You’re my boss,” Logan deadpans. “You pay me to be around you.” 

“Yeah, but sometimes we hang out outside of work.” 

“You’re not my best friend,” Logan says, voice flat. “Now, if you’re quite done…”

“Then is Patton my best friend? Does _he_ think I’m _his_ best friend? Are we mutual best friends, or is this painfully one-sided? I can’t handle this rejection.” Damian’s hand reaches up and presses against his temple, fingers sliding in his hair. “Logan, I’m going to write a breakup song.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” Logan says. He sounds like he would rather be anywhere but here. 

“Wait,” Damian says, pausing. He turns and narrows his eyes at Logan, not exactly locking gazes. “Who’s your best friend?”

Logan stares at him. A few uncomfortable seconds pass. Logan takes a breath, and says, “is that really the most important question, here?”

“No, no, you’re right. Back to the real question. _Does Patton hate me?_ If it’s yes, then I’m never going to see him again. If it’s _no_ , then he’s going to become a groupie and he’ll totally change and I won’t be able to stand it.” 

“Patton would literally never become a groupie,” Logan says. “I hope you realize how ridiculous you’re being right now.” 

Damian considers. Then he blanches. “Oh my god, you’re right, he’ll get super awkward around me because he knows I’m famous, now. Or he’ll not hate me but he’ll say that he doesn’t want to have to deal with being friends with a famous person. Logan, can I force someone to be my friend? Wait, no, that’s not…”

“Damian, I say and do this with the utmost hope for remaining employed,” Logan says. He reaches forwards, takes Damian’s head between his hands, and shakes. “Chill. The fuck. _OUT_.”

Damian jerks out of Logan’s hold. Stares at Logan. Eyes wide, eyebrows pressed together. “What the fuck?”

“You’re overreacting. You need to _calm down_ ,” Logan states. He holds a hand up, counting off on his fingers. “One. _None of this is confirmable_ unless you talk to Patton. Two. Patton is not the kind of person to drop you without another word. Three. The tone of the tweet is _joking_ . You know the kind of person Roman Prince is. He’s making a joke about Patton’s eyesight and your visibility as a celebrity. It’s a _joke_ . Four. You need to memorize the actors names of this movie in fifteen minutes or _so help me_ , I will wring your skinny little neck. Clear?”

Damian swallows, eyes about crossed as he stares down at Logan’s darkened face. Logan’s lips thin, eyes squinted. 

“Crystal,” Damian peeps out. 

“Good.” Logan pulls away, tapping at his phone for a few moments, then showing him the screen. “Now, I have a list right here. I sent it to you last week but undoubtedly you never saved it.” 

“Oh, because we have so many conversations, I can’t scroll up to find it, oh nooo,” Damian mutters. He pulls his phone out, scrolling to find the list attachment. He sniffs, ignoring Logan’s colossal eye roll. 

“Call Patton. Or Roman. I honestly do not care. But call one of them, resolve this. You have fifteen til your makeup shows. After that you’re straight to the party.”

“Joy.” 

“Put on that patented Deceit grin and win everyone over.” Logan pats him on the shoulder. “Unfortunately, I’ll be by your side the whole time.” 

“Unfortunate for me or for you?”

“For me, obviously.” Logan passes him. “I have work to do. Your work is memorization. I’m sure even you can manage that.” 

“Prick.” 

“Bye,” Logan calls out, sounding absolutely delighted to be leaving Damian’s range. 

“Trip on an open wire,” Damian calls back. A slamming door answers him and he sighs. 

He taps his phone a few times, bringing twitter back up. _I see you, @DamianSilver_. He clicks the photo, enlarging Patton’s wide grin, the sunlight in his hair. 

His lips quirk. He saves the photo. 

(Would it be too much to set it as his background?)

(Yes, it would. He likes the one of the both of them much better. Anytime he looks at it he reminisces about being so close to Patton.)

(He smells like woodsmoke and flowers.)

\--

“AHA! GET THIS!” Roman cries out. He hasn’t left yet, and Patton’s not going to tell him to leave any time soon. Patton’s mostly sure Roman’s spending the night? But he can never tell. Sometimes Roman dips out at one in the morning, saying he promised Virgil extra cuddles for the morning. 

Patton doesn’t know if it’s a _Virgil_ night or not. 

But, as long as Roman stays, Patton’s happy. 

“What’s up?” Patton asks. He’s curled up on the couch, a heavy blanket strewn over his lap. He’s working through knitting, which is a task in and of itself. He’s figured out how to count stitches with his fingers, but only does the most basic of stitches, to keep his sanity intact. 

He _was_ making a scarf. A badly mad, simplistic scarf. 

(For Damian.)

“He retweeted,” Roman says. His voice grows closer and Patton hears his feet against the carpet. “That crazy son of a bitch. I gained like a hundred followers just from the interaction.” 

“What did he say?” Patton asks. His fingers work smoothly against the soft yarn. 

(He’s still making a scarf. He just doesn’t know if it’s still for Damian.)

“Sorry for the smoke and mirrors, darling. I guess my secret’s out.” 

Patton blinks a few times. “D… darling?”

Roman laughs like a firework, the sound bursting from his chest. Patton loves the sound of his laughter. “Everyone’s going crazy speculating what that means. He barely interacts with his fans on twitter which is fair, because he doesn’t want to give any special treatment -- so people are debating what this means.”

“I… what _does_ it mean?” Patton says. He absently realizes that his fingers have stilled. 

“Well, according to three articles that are popping up on my feed,” Roman says, “it has something to do with his next album theme? Or maybe relating to the movie, since the movie deals with dark themes and secrecy? Or this teen article -- _oooh_ , Patton, I like this one,” Roman says approvingly. He takes a breath, his voice sounding from deep in his chest. “It’s saying we’re related.” 

“Who?”

“Me and Damian -- wait, the next paragraph is speculating that you’re his secret half brother. Hmm.”

“I don’t care about the tabloids,” Patton says, even though he’s just a little interested in what they have to say about Damian. Just a bit. “What does it _mean?_ ”

“In my personal opinion, he freaked the fuck out,” Roman says. He hums a few notes. “Then crafted this beautiful response. Dude, he’s into you hardcore. Which I knew from him giving you obvious heart eyes every fucking Sunday. Also he texted me.” 

“Roman!” Patton screeches. He jumps to his feet, knitting needles and blankets alike clattering to the floor. His shouts overlap Roman’s cackling and he hears the creak of the floorboards by the hallway. “Do not run away from me, young man!”

“I’m older than you!” Roman calls back. Patton stumbles out of the blankets and races towards the hallway, praying that he doesn’t slam his shins into anything. He turns the familiar corner, fingers brushing against the wall, and runs full force into Roman’s arms. 

Roman catches him, obviously expecting the extra force and accommodating easily. 

“You’re so mean,” Patton whines. 

Roman hugs him. “Aw, you love it.” 

Patton’s still for a few counts, then jabs his fingers below Roman’s ribs. Roman’s resounding yelp echoes in Patton’s ear. 

“You know I’m ticklish there,” Roman wails. His arms, no longer around Patton, protect his sides. 

“Stop being annoying,” Patton says. He points at Roman and accidentally catches him in the chest. 

“Ugh, _fine,_ ” Roman says. He sighs. “Don’t tell Virgil.” 

“What, that you’re being a nuisance?” 

“Yes -- yes, that,” Roman says. “He’ll tell Logan, and then I’ll be -- _oh_. Oh, maybe I should come completely clean.” Roman hums thoughtfully, like he’s talking to himself. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe?”

“Um, no, I mean I should totally come clean,” Roman says, changing his tune at Patton’s half-exasperated sigh. 

“Why did you run to the hallway when there’s a perfectly good couch for confessions back there?” Patton asks.

Roman snorts. “You expect me to think in advance?” 

Patton snorts, thinks something sort of mean, decides not to say it, then thinks: _well, he’s been lying, too,_ and says, “Based on your actions, you don’t think at all.”

Roman whistles. “Damn, Patton. I deserved that, but damn. For my soul.”

“Sorry,” Patton says, and means it. 

But Roman ruffles his hair, and says, “Blanket fort?” so he knows he has no hard feelings. 

Patton agrees, obviously, and one blanket fort later finds Patton and Roman on his living room floor. Everything is a deeper sort of black and if Patton focuses he can see the light of the flashlight Roman’s waving around. 

“Okay. Trade?” 

Patton thinks. “I ate the rest of your lo mein the other day.” 

Roman gasps. “How could you? You _know_ it’s my favorite.” 

“I know, but I was hungry,” Patton says. “It was so good…”

“Absolute betrayal,” Roman says. “Okay, um… Damian texted me this frantic paragraph, worried to hell and back that you hated him. I debunked that, because in what world would you hate him, and he said that he really cherishes your relationship and doesn’t want anything to go wrong.” 

“Oh,” Patton breathes. He wonders if you can _feel_ colors, because he feels like he’s glowing gold and pink all at once. “He said that?”

“He also wants to know if he’s still invited to the book club,” Roman says. His fingers tap against his knee, making a soft noise in the darkness. “I told him yes, but he wants to hear it from you.” 

“Yes, he’s -- of course he’s still invited,” Patton says before he can think. He can’t imagine -- book club is his only _connection_ to Damian, he can’t -- he can’t cut off his only link. He wants to see and talk to Damian more than he can think. “Of course.” 

“Greaaat,” Roman drawls. “I’ll text him later.” 

Patton hums his consent, thinking. Blanket fort confessions were some of his and Roman’s favorite times, no matter how sticky things became. “I overheard your late night phone call with Virgil.” 

For a few long seconds, all Patton can hear is their breathing. 

“Oh,” Roman murmurs, his playful mood suddenly gone. “You did, huh…”

“I didn’t mean to,” Patton says. He shifts. “I just… did.” 

“We’re not breaking up,” Roman says. The shape and feel of the words makes Patton wonder if he’s covering his lips with his knees or his hands. “This is a lead-in to the next thing, I guess… Logan, Virgil’s best friend? He’s Damian’s assistant. Has been for years.”

“Virgil’s best friend… you mean your… the same Logan who…”

“The same Logan who I’m halfway in love with, yeah,” Roman says. He sighs. “I mean, platonically? In love with platonically? Love is stupid.” 

“Is that what you and Virgil were arguing about?” 

“Yes. No. Sort of? It’s complicated.” 

Patton’s quiet. He laughs, soft as can be. “And I thought my love life was complicated.” 

Roman hums. 

“Last one,” Patton says. He can feel Roman’s eyes on him. Patton thanks the stars that it’s dark and prays, at the same time, that Roman can’t see his reddening face. “I want to invite Damian over tonight.” 

A beat. 

“You know he’s like, at a party right now? And that the movie is in say, half an hour?”

“That’s why it’s a confession,” Patton says, groaning. He buries his face in his knees. “I know he has responsibilities. I just want to see him. And now I know his big secret, so we can… we can get closer, right?” 

Roman exhales in one long swoop. “You know,” Roman says, in the tone of voice Patton knows accompanies a grin. “We could always ask.” 

“No!” Patton gasps. “That’s -- that’s so _selfish_ , I can’t ask him to--”

“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.”

“--it’s for his _job_ , he’s basically being paid for this--”

“He’s fucking loaded, he can handle losing a couple k, which _won’t happen_ because he doesn’t show to a premiere.”

“--and I’m just _Patton,_ there’s no reason for him to show--!” 

“Aaand I called him,” Roman says, which effectively cuts Patton off. 

Patton gaps at him. The only sound filling the space is the ringing of Roman’s phone and before Patton knows what’s happening, Roman’s shoved the phone into Patton’s hand just as a little _click_ sounds on the other end. 

“Roman, this better be good. I’m in the middle of a riveting conversation about silks.” 

Patton can’t breathe. That’s Damian, on the phone. Damian _Silver._ Deceit? That’s his dry tone, the one where everything he says has seven layers of sarcasm. The one Patton adores because he always has a joke, just for Patton. 

“...Roman? Did you butt dial me again because I swear to god--”

And it sounds like he’s rearing up to hang up so Patton says, “Wait--”

Damian pauses, and says, “Patton...?”

And suddenly, Patton can’t keep it together anymore, because Damian sounds absolutely _reverent_. 

“Damian,” Patton says. He shakes his head when he hears the choked sound of his own voice. “Um, I mean, um.” 

“Why are you…?” Damian’s quiet, then he says, “no, no, it doesn’t matter. What… can I do for you?” 

“Um,” Patton says. He’s wide-eyed. There’s frantic movement on the other side of the blanket fort. “I, um. Do…” _gosh,_ the words keep sticking in his throat. “Do you…” _He can’t do this_ . Patton tries to find Roman, kicking at his leg in a frantic _SOS._

Damian’s just _breathing_ on the other side of the phone and it’s _stupid,_ Patton’s had whole _arguments_ with the man over the true connotation of a word. But he just can’t seem to talk to Damian _outside_ of the book club. And Patton knows it’s not a celebrity thing, because if Damian was the poorest, least known man on earth Patton would still stutter up a storm. 

And Patton’s choking on his words. “I…” he stutters. Closes his eyes, like that’ll help. “I WANT TO SEE YOU.” Then he pulls the phone back and starts mashing at buttons. 

Roman yelps in alarm and snatches the phone out of Patton’s hand before he clicks the wrong thing. “Did you just _hang up_ after saying that? Patton! You’re smoother than this!”

“He’s so lovely and his voice is so smooth I can’t do this,” Patton all but wails. Grabbing the nearest blanket, Patton shoves his face into it. “It’s one thing when we’re friends but I want to be _more_ than friends!” 

“Good lord,” Roman says. He sighs. “I texted him saying that what you _meant_ to say was, _can you please come over I want you so badly_.” 

“Roman!” 

“I’m _kidding,_ oh my god -- stop _hitting me_ \-- I just invited him over, nothing about wanting or crushing or anything.” 

“What did he say? What did he sayyyy.” Patton leans against Roman full-bodied. Roman struggles with staying upright but eventually caves, the two of them flat against the blankets, Patton draped over his side like a ragdoll. 

“Nothing, I sent it literally ten seconds ago,” Roman says. He pokes Patton’s nose. “Chill.” 

“We can talk about Virgil and Logan.” 

“On second thought, I’m going to grab my laptop and we can watch bad tv until we get a response.” 

Patton giggles. When Roman’s up and escaping the blanket fort, he calls out, “grab some cookies from the pantry while you’re at it!” 

He laughs at Roman’s disgruntled yet affirmative response. 

\--

Damian is on a mission. 

“Logan, something came up, I can’t go to the actual premiere,” Damian says. He shows his phone screen to Logan. 

Logan’s eyebrows rise into his hairline, gaze flicking between the screen and Damian’s carefully neutral expression. 

“This is a text from Roman Prince,” Logan says, voice slow. He’s donned the _Damian Silver are you fucking stupid_ voice. “That says, _u should ditch and chill with me and Pat tonight, per his request_ , with a truly obnoxious emoticon placed at the end.” 

“That is correct,” Damian says. 

A beat. Logan stares him down. Now he’s upgraded to the _Damian Silver are you fucking stupid_ expression. 

“Now, I know you don’t like Roman Prince,” Damian starts. 

“You don’t know a single thing about my relationship with that man.” 

“But I’m thinking that -- what?” Damian blinks, caught off guard. “Your -- what?”

“You can’t just _ditch_ , as Prince so eloquently put it,” Logan says frostily. “You made a commitment--”

“ _Please,_ Logan, this premiere barely matters,” Damian implores. 

“No.”

“You are the worst,” Damian says. He’s muttering under his breath as he types out a quick response, _Mom said no_.

“You’ll get over it,” Logan says. He sighs deeply, the movement rattling his whole body, champagne swirling around his glass. “This isn’t just a chore for you.” 

A pang of empathy for Logan strikes his veins, but Damian doesn’t give any indication of it. “Poor baby.” 

Logan shoots him a glare as Damian’s phone buzzes. He glances down and almost chokes at the response. _Tell Logan he can come too ~ ;)_

A second text is flying in moments later with, _I’ll make it worth his while._

“What the fuck,” Damian says. “What -- what…” 

Logan, across from him, noticeably pales. “What did he say?”

“Um? I have a question?” Damian says. He points the phone screen at Logan. “Are you fucking my book club buddy?”

Logan’s narrowed eyes read the text and his shoulders slump. Whether in relief or exasperation, Damian has no clue. His eyes close for a few brief moments. “No, I am not… I do not have an inappropriate relationship with Roman Prince.” 

Another text buzzes through. _Please?_

Logan groans. “This is childish. I will call Roman myself.” 

“I thought he was _Prince?_ ” Damian grins at Logan’s resulting glare. 

Logan pulls his phone out, tapping a few buttons and holding it to his ear. He looks… pretty badass, actually, standing with his phone and glass of champagne and severe expression. Damian, disgruntled, wants something to do with his hands while he waits. Why can’t _he_ look effortlessly hot just doing basic tasks, like calling someone on the phone? Life truly _isn’t_ fair. 

“Prince,” Logan says coldly. 

Damian winces. But he doesn’t wander away, giving Logan privacy. One, because he’s halfway involved anyway, and two, because he’s a nosy bitch who wants to know everything about Logan’s private life, despite not being able to weasel _anything_ out of the man, ever. 

“I understand you _desire_ Mr. Silver’s presence, but he has a prior engagement. Of which you are aware of.” 

_Yikes_. Mr. Silver? Logan’s pulling out all the assistant moves. 

“You stating that this event does not matter will not change the fact that it does.” 

Damian shifts on his heels. He feels, vaguely, like his parents are arguing. How odd. 

Logan’s entire body puffs up, like a dragon about to extinguish a continent. “Our--” he cuts himself off abruptly, eyes connecting with Damian’s, and furiously deflates. “You realize this will only cause problems for me.” 

If Damian strains his ears, he thinks he can hear a soft tone being spoken over the phone. Quiet, gentle. The voice Roman exclusively uses for those he’s close to. 

Which begs the question: what the _hell_ is their relationship? 

Damian would like a powerpoint presentation _stat_. 

Logan closes his eyes. Inhales, exhales. Says, “Roman,” in the quietest, softest voice Damian has ever heard come from Logan. 

Damian feels like someone who stepped in a puddle to splash it everywhere and found that it’s much deeper than he thought. Not exactly a bad realization, just an unexpected one. 

Logan groans again, but this time it’s much fonder. He smiles, which, _holy shit_. “You two will be the death of me.” 

Damian clamps his mouth shut because he knows if he says _anything_ this pliant-looking Logan will disappear. 

A few more seconds pass, then, “If you say so. Goodbye.” 

He hangs up the phone, and looks at Damian, who tries, for all intents and purposes, to not look like a kid waiting for confirmation for a play date. 

Logan sighs. “Which excuse are you planning on using? And if you say you thought I would come up with one, you will regret it.” 

Damian purses his lips, pretending he wasn’t about to say just that. “I found inspiration and just couldn’t wait.” 

“Weak, but I can work with it,” Logan says. He loses the soft edge Roman’s phone call gave him, transforming into Damian’s formidable, frightening assistant. “Give me fifteen minutes, then we can make our escape.” 

They get out in ten. 

\--

Logan has a… complicated relationship with Roman, but he can’t deny that Roman knows him better than most. They’re… well, _legally_ … 

It’s not like Logan can just _cut Roman out of his life_ , is what he’s saying. Not that he would really _want_ to… Plus, Roman’s dating Logan’s best friend, Virgil, which is a whole _different_ situation… 

Now, it seems, his professional and personal lives are going to officially collide. He’s tried to keep them separated (which is admirable, Logan thinks, seeing as Damian is becoming friends with Roman) but, he could only hold out for so long. 

He wonders how Roman hasn’t dropped the ball earlier than this, how he hasn’t let anything slip. Logan gives credit where credit is due, he supposes… 

It really doesn’t help that whenever Logan thinks about Roman his first thoughts are always a string of hearts blasting through his brain. It’s an _issue_ , is all he’s saying. But he’s controlled it his entire life, practically. He’s fine. Everything’s _fine._

Damian keeps shooting him worried looks from the other side of the car, though, so Logan wonders if he’s covering up his nerves as well as he thinks. 

He forcibly stills his bouncing leg. 

Trish pulls up to Patton’s apartment with very little fanfare. Damian and Logan don their Anti-Paparazzi apparel, slip out of the car, and run to the door. 

Roman stands there, waiting, and he opens the door the moment they reach it. 

Roman also lives in this building, so if anyone catches a photo they can insinuate from there. Not that Roman ever spends _time_ at his apartment. If he’s not at Patton’s apartment or Virgil’s house, he’s wandering around like a homeless man or throwing rocks at Logan’s window like a 90s movie. 

“Logan, _darling_ , it’s been so _long_ ,” Roman coos, throwing an arm around Logan’s shoulder. 

“It’s been two days,” Logan deadpans. He nudges Roman’s arm off of him but doesn’t move away, their shoulders just barely brushing. 

Damian stares at them, his lips pressed tightly together. Logan can read the blatant confusion warring behind his eyes, but he doesn’t elaborate, and neither does Roman. 

To say the elevator ride up was awkward would be an understatement, though. 

Logan, however, as a trained bodyguard, can handle a little quiet. 

“How’s your delightful brother doing, by the way?” 

Damian, evidently, cannot. 

Roman makes an unsavory expression. “He’s successful in his new line of body art, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“Fascinating.” 

Silence. 

Logan wonders if he could put a bullet through his head to spice things up a bit, because _lords above_ , aren’t these two supposed to be friends? 

“Okay, I’ll cave,” Damian says. He turns, facing the two of them directly. “Who the hell are you two to each other?” 

Roman, instead of answering immediately, side-eyes Logan. _Do you want to…?_

He doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. The less Damian knows about him, the better. 

“Affiliates,” Logan says smoothly, if not detached and emotionless. 

Roman snorts. Logan glares at him, but Roman just covers his face with his hand, trying to stifle his laughter. 

“Affiliates,” Damian repeats flatly. 

Roman full out laughs at that, the sounds bubbling from his chest. “Affiliates--! Logan, you’re so funny, this is why I--”

Roman bites the last words before they pass his lips, grinning widely. 

“I’m so confused,” Damian mutters. The elevator dings, doors sliding open. 

“Don’t worry,” Roman says, patting Damian’s shoulder as he exits. “Patton’s super confused, too.” 

“It’s personal,” Logan murmurs in protest. He exits before Damian, glancing both ways down the hallway. Technically, he’s still on duty. Not that he thinks Damian’s going to be mauled on the seventh floor. 

“But I want to be your friend, not just your employer,” Damian says. 

Logan doesn’t reply. 

“C’mon, starlight, loosen up a little,” Roman says. His voice is strictly teasing but his eyes are wide and earnest. 

Logan scrunches up his nose in distaste. “Would it not distract from everything else transpiring?” 

Roman’s lips open with an _oh_ , expression bright. “You’re right! This is drama for another day.” 

“It’s not drama,” Logan mutters. Roman unlocks Patton’s door because of course he has a key, of course. 

“Of course not, darling,” Roman says. He shoulder checks Logan the moment Logan enters the apartment, though. Damian’s eyebrows furrow further. 

Then Roman inhales and Logan winces prematurely. 

“PATTON! YOUR BEAU IS HERE!” 

A strangled noise sounds from the living room and, upon entering, Logan immediately rolls his eyes. A blanket fort, really? 

“I can see you judging me and I am offended,” Roman says, pointing an accusatory finger in Logan’s face. 

Logan sneers at him but the disdain is lost in translation. He pushes Roman’s finger away. “If you’re going to make a blanket fort, at least do it _right_. This is depressing.” 

“ _Wow_ , babe, if I didn’t know any better I would think that you’re _challenging_ me.” 

“It’s not a challenge. I know I would do better.” 

Roman gasps and a bubble of fondness rises in Logan’s throat. He fights off threats of a small smile. 

“Prove it, _sweetheart_ ,” Roman says. 

Logan rolls his eyes. Roman _adores_ pet names, obviously, but he’s laying it on thick for the peanut gallery. It’s like he _wants--_ well. Logan knows Roman wants everyone to know of their… relations… but Logan just thinks it’s unprofessional. Because he works for Damian fucking Silver. 

“Fine. Patton, I apologize for the disruption.” 

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Patton calls out from his place within the blanket fort. 

“He’s telling you to get out so he can dismantle mine to make a better one,” Roman translates. 

“Oh!” Patton nudges his way out, grabbing his cane. He stands and stumbles on a wayward blanket, but Damian reaches forward and steadies him, hands soft against Patton’s arm and shoulder. 

Roman leans in close to Logan and says, “ew,” right into his ear. Logan flinches away, shooting a glare at Roman even though he’s right. The way Damian’s looking down at Patton is _disgustingly_ adorable. Patton’s beaming like the world laid itself out at his feet. 

“Do you want Virgil here, too?” Logan says as Patton reaches up and connects his and Damian’s hands together. They’re being grossly domestic despite not being together. 

Yet. 

“Do you?” Roman says. He’s staring at Logan with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Logan flushes, avoiding his gaze. “You’re distracting me. I have a blanket fort to make.” 

“Oh, I’m being distracting~?” 

Logan freezes as Roman slips his arm around Logan’s torso, fingers digging into his ribcage. Roman’s other hand slips down and presses against his stomach. He props his chin on Logan’s shoulder, face mere inches from Logan’s own. 

Air decompresses from his lungs. A wave of heat washes through his body and he can’t -- _ugh_. 

Logan’s _trained_ not to be caught off guard. He’s trained to keep his cool in every situation. So why is it that Roman always manages to catch him, unaware…? Is it because they’ve known each other for so long? That Roman knows him well enough to know exactly which buttons to press to frazzle and dismantle him? 

He can feel Roman’s breath against his cheek and the heated stare from Damian. 

Logan feels his whole body blush, just at the thought of Damian _seeing_ everything that’s transpiring. 

“Yes,” Logan finally says. He sneaks a hand around and digs it against Roman’s ribcage, right on the mark. 

Roman leaps away with a yelp. “You and Patton are so cruel to me! You always use my weaknesses!” 

“If Patton can figure it out, your weaknesses are too blatant,” Logan says coolly. He straightens his shirt, pretending that his face isn’t pinked from the interaction. 

“Patton’s freakishly good at figuring out weaknesses, though,” Roman says. “Watch out. Have a conversation with him and he’ll have you figured out inside and out.” 

“I doubt it,” Logan says. After all, he’s not just anybody. But, he’ll concede. “Though I don’t doubt Patton’s interpersonal abilities.” 

“Thanks, Logan,” Patton chirps. He and Damian are standing suspiciously close, but Logan finds that he really, really doesn’t care what his boss does in his free time. “But, I was wondering… you seem to know Roman really well…”

“Oh, you can’t ask him about that,” Damian says airily. Logan rolls his eyes as Damian continues with, “that’s his super dark secret. He has _friends_.” 

“Yeah, but…” Patton trails off. Then he smiles. “Well, either way! Would you two like anything to drink or eat? I feel like a terrible host…”

“I’m fine,” Logan says, cordial. 

“I’m gonna steal some coke from your fridge,” Roman says, like any sane person. God. Logan really cannot handle Roman sometimes. 

Roman pokes the back of Logan’s neck as he passes, causing a full body shiver to shoot up his spine. _Christ_. 

“Do you want anything Damian?” Roman calls from the kitchen, like Patton hadn’t _just asked that_ . What, did Roman think Patton was addressing _him?_

“No, I’m… I’m good,” Damian says. Logan doesn’t know why he showed up. All Damian’s done is stare helplessly into Patton’s eyes. It’s unnerving. 

Logan’s glad that for all of those book clubs, Logan sat _outside_ of the room. He doesn’t know if he could handle however long with those two. 

But, whatever. He can focus on this childish blanket fort because Roman successfully baited him (which, Roman _always_ manages to get him to do things he otherwise wouldn’t) and attempt to ignore them. 

“For real, though, do you want Virgil over here?” Roman asks. He appears by Logan’s left shoulder, soda cracking open with a _hiss._

“Shouldn’t you ask Patton this?” Logan asks. He’s halfway through dismantling Roman’s… attempt, and is piling blankets and sorting pillows. 

“Patton knows him well,” Roman says. “They’re good friends!” 

Logan’s limbs slow. Well…? Patton and Virgil are good friends, Patton and _Roman_ are good friends… has he really been so wrapped up in work that he’s missed…?

“Hey, wait,” Roman says, quickly catching onto Logan’s shifting mood. “You know we adore you.” 

“I’m not concerned about that,” Logan says. The words fall snappier than he intends and he sighs, straightening his spine. “I just… feel bad. With you and Virgil…” 

“We’re doing fine, specs,” Roman says. “Your movie night input has been greatly missed, though. Care to return?” 

A hint of a smile brushes Logan’s lips. “Tell Damian to stop attending Thursday night events.” 

Roman’s eyes glitter and Logan opens his mouth to say _wait, I’m joking_ , when Roman bellows: “DAMIAN, STOP HAVING A LIFE ON THURSDAY NIGHT AND LET ME HAVE MY -- MY FRIEND TO MYSELF.” 

“Good lord, you’re too much,” Logan mutters. He turns as Roman whines, draping himself over Logan’s back. “Get off. Stop sabotaging me.” 

“You can’t win if I sabotage, though.” 

“Flawless logic. Thank you so much for your input.” 

“Of course, LoLo, you know I’m here for you.” 

“You two bicker like a married couple,” Damian says offhandedly, smirking. 

Roman snorts, laughter spilling from his lips. Logan rolls his eyes and manages to dislodge him, shaking his shoulders. “You’re so dramatic.” 

Roman laughs like he’s wheezing. 

“Hey, um, Damian,” Patton says. Logan can see Patton’s hand resting on Damian’s bicep. _Gross._ “I… not to change the subject, or anything… but… why didn’t you tell me?” 

The mood shifts, room buzzing with a new tension. 

Logan artfully avoids Damian’s seeking gaze, instead structuring the framework of the blanket fort. He doesn’t want to see this dumpster fire, and would rather not listen to it, either, but he can’t think of a natural way to escape. 

“I didn’t want you to think of me differently because I’m famous,” Damian says, and then Logan _knows_ that he needs to get the fuck out of dodge because if Damian keeps saying sappy lines like that, Logan won’t be able to keep it together. 

He doesn’t like leaving work half finished, _even_ if it’s a blanket fort, he can’t deal with these two. God. 

“Roman,” he says loudly. Roman’s right behind him, but he wants Damian and Patton to hear him. “I haven’t visited Virgil in a while. Let’s go there.” 

Roman blinks. His soda dangles forgotten in his hands. “Um, okay? Like, right now?” 

“Yes, right now,” Logan says. He throws a few more things together and it’s an _adequate_ blanket fort, but he could not care less since he wants the two not-yet-lovebirds out of his sight. 

“Is Virgil your best friend?” Damian calls out. 

Logan ignores him, shoving his shoes on. Roman, confused and amused, follows his lead. 

“I’ll catch you later, Pat,” Roman says, laughter in his voice. Then he pushes Logan out the door, like leaving had been his idea all along. 

“You’re dramatic,” Logan says as he leaves. 

“I’m not the one making a dramatic exit, though, am I?” Roman counters. 

Logan huffs. 

They make eye contact on the elevator. Logan catches something unreadable swimming in Roman’s gaze. Roman averts his eyes, cheeks flushing. 

It’s… odd. 

Logan… knows that he’s had feelings for Roman for quite some time, now. He’s compartmentalized it, sorted it into a box and shoved it in the back of his mind, because he’s not allowed to have feelings for Roman. Roman’s dating his best friend, _Virgil._ And it’s only made worse by the fond touches, cute nicknames, and gentle sideways glances that Roman awards him. 

But the thing is… _the thing is…_ Logan knows the feelings aren’t romantic. They’re platonic, yes, but just… _more._ They’re more than that. 

Logan could _guess_ that _maybe_ Roman is interested in him. But it’s… highly unlikely, and Roman would never, ever cheat. 

_Because that’s what this would be._ Romance or no, what Logan desires would definitely fall into _cheating_ territory. 

Logan swallows. Virgil will help. He always feels more grounded and comfortable around Virgil. 

Virgil will help. 

Logan’s sure of it. 

\--

Virgil knows it’s going to be a long night when Roman calls him to tell him that he and Logan are coming over. 

Because _Christ,_ the two of them need to work their feelings out. He doesn’t know what form of affection they have for one another, but he knows it's more than just friendship. And Virgil’s _fine_ with it -- he supports it! 

The two of them are just too _rock-headed_ to _do_ anything about it and if Virgil has to have one more one-sided conversation with either one of them about the other, Virgil’s _going to lose it._

He loves his boyfriend. He really does. He loves his best friend, Logan. But they can be so _insufferable._

And the constant regret that passes over their eyes when they look at each other, the guilt when they glance at Virgil -- he’s sick and fucking tired of it. Virgil isn’t some maiden from the stories who needs to be coddled and treated like glass. He’s not a soft prince who needs to be guarded from the harsh outside world. 

He’s just Virgil. 

The door to his house clicks open and the two of them stumble in. Virgil watches them from his couch, a single eyebrow raised, as Logan gives Roman one final shove, lips twisted in a sneer and a smile all at once. 

They freeze when they see Virgil. 

Strong start. Virgil’s having an absolute blast. 

“Sup,” Virgil says. 

Roman’s eyes brighten. He bounds over to Virgil, leaning over and kissing him flat on the lips. Virgil kisses him back, but Roman pulls away before much else can come from it. 

“Patton knows about Damian,” Roman says. 

Virgil blinks. “About damn time.” 

“Yes, we all know your opinion on the matter,” Logan says. Somehow, he manages to make the statement sound endearing instead of sarcastic, his eyes soft around the edges. 

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Did you tell them about you two, too? Break all the secrets at once?” 

“It’s not a secret,” Logan says forcefully. 

Roman and Virgil exchange glances. Virgil sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Logan.” 

Logan huffs. He flicks his shoes off with more attitude than he would if he were working. “Fine. No. We didn’t. But it’s unprofessional--”

“Aww, you’re so embarrassed,” Roman says. He flops over Logan’s shoulders. 

Logan jerks in surprise, trying not to fall over with the added weight. Shoving Roman off, he settles next to Virgil. 

Roman recovers quickly, finding a comfortable place on Virgil’s _other_ side. 

Heavens above. Virgil’s going to lock them in a fucking closet. 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Logan says, sniffing. There’s a careful few inches between him and Virgil’s side. “Damian is my _boss,_ if you do not already know.” 

“Shouldn’t your boss know if you’re married, though~?”

Logan shoots Roman an unamused glare. “We’re hardly married.” 

“How could you say that!” Roman gasps, a hand pressed dramatically against his chest. “Dear husband of mine, I am _wounded._ The stars could not aid me in my plights. I still remember the romantic evening when it all occurred, in the county office building. It was raining--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Virgil says. Logan’s cheeks are growing steadily darker, though with anger or because he’s flustered, Virgil can’t tell. He just knows it will not be good for Roman’s health to continue. 

“Oh my god, but, wait,” Roman says. His tone shifts, growing bright with laughter. “Damian said we argue like a married couple. I could barely keep it together. I almost broke.” 

“You practically did break,” Logan says. “You were so obvious, if they weren’t already wrapped up in their own problems they could have figured it out.” 

“Aw, but Logan, not everyone has that razor sharp mind of yours,” Roman coos. He leans over Virgil to poke at Logan’s cheek. 

Logan smacks his hand away from his face, lip curling. “Or maybe you’re too used to the dull minds of celebrities.” 

“Low blow, but I have been hanging around some not so bright light bulbs lately, so I’ll let it slide.” 

Virgil cannot believe it. 

And, well, he’s not really known for tact, so. “Did you talk about each other at all?” 

Logan and Roman give him twin confused stares. 

“Um, darling, I can’t say I know what you mean,” Roman says. He laughs awkwardly, the tips of his ears pink. 

Virgil narrows his eyes. Roman avoids his gaze. Virgil’s amusement vanishes further. 

“Well,” Virgil says. He takes a deep breath. “I’m not dealing with your emotional problems.” 

Roman’s eyes flicker with hurt. “That hurts, babe,” he says, laughing to cover the genuinity of his statement. 

Something flashes in Virgil’s chest. For some reason the culmination of every past event is stacking on Virgil like a horrific tower, pressing down on his ribcage. “I’m tired of dancing around you two. You have a _thing_ for each other. I know it. You both know it. Why are you so scared?” 

Roman’s expression crumples. 

Virgil softens. A flash of regret shoots through him. He didn’t _mean_ to be crass, it’s just… it’s just how things end up sounding from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” Virgil says. He presses his hand against the side of Roman’s face. Roman leans into him, eyelashes fluttering. Virgil runs his thumb over Roman’s cheekbone, then turns to stare at Logan. Logan’s gaze is locked on the blank tv screen, expression neutral. 

Virgil knows Logan better than anyone, though, and he can see the emotions warring in his eyes, in the miniscule twitches of his features. 

He sighs. “Logan. I’m not mad at you.” 

Logan moves, just barely. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Why not?” He looks like he wants to say more, but keeps his mouth shut. 

“I already know Roman’s polyamourous,” Virgil says, because what good comes from lying, from drawing things out more than they need to? He’s had too many nights of Roman hugging him close to his chest and murmuring in his sleep, worried words spilling from guilty lips. 

Roman makes a small noise of confirmation. It was one of the first things Roman told him. 

“It’s not…” Logan turns, _finally,_ looking at Virgil. His eyebrows are furrowed. “I don’t want to date him like you are. I just… want something… I can’t have.” 

“I won’t cheat on you, Virgil.” 

Virgil groans. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Roman and Logan look at him, twin expressions of concern painted on their faces. 

“Roman. You sweet, sweet idiot.” Virgil takes Roman’s head between his hands. “It’s not cheating if we both consent to it.” 

“But…”

“I honest to god thought we already had this conversation,” Virgil says. He juts a thumb in Logan’s direction, who looks taken aback. “I told you I was fine with you two having a relationship.” 

Roman blinks once. Twice. Then his entire body seems to increase in size, realization dawning. “I thought you meant how we were like, married, even though it’s platonic.” 

Virgil’s going to strangle him. He’s honest to god going to murder his boyfriend and nobody can tell him he did wrong. 

The danger must be shining on Virgil’s expression because Roman edges backwards on the couch. 

“I mean, we want something platonic. I -- _I_ want something platonic,” Logan says. His hands are fidgeting in his lap when Virgil glances at him. 

“You realize that there’s a name for what you want?” Virgil says, voice softer than anything. He shifts closer to Logan but doesn’t touch him. “A relationship with a partner that’s platonic but more than friendship?” 

Logan parts his lips but furrows his eyebrows. He hates not knowing. Virgil’s surprised he hasn’t researched this extensively. 

“You’re referring to a… _queerplatonic relationship?”_ Logan says the words like one might a scientific term and well, looks like he did do some research. 

“You want a QPR with me?” Roman says. He seems over the danger of being close to Virgil, shuffling closer to stare imploringly at Logan. There’s hope, irrevocable hope shining in his eyes. 

“I don’t fully… understand what that would entail,” Logan says. 

Virgil blinks, realization blanketing over him in a flash. QPR’s don’t have an easily definable line. There isn’t one example to base a QPR on, and Logan, who likes having defined terms, understandable guidelines… that scares him. 

“It’s okay,” Virgil says. Logan’s hand inches towards Virgil and Virgil holds it gently. He may be dating Roman, and Logan and Roman may have known each other for longer, but Virgil and Logan have a tight bond that the others will never feel. They’re best friends, they’re like brothers, and Virgil would do just about anything for him. 

“A queerplatonic relationship is defined by whatever guidelines the two of you establish,” Virgil says. He squeezes Logan’s hand once. “Which means a whole lot of your least favorite topic.”

Logan scrunches his nose, but there’s something playful in the action. “Gross. Feelings.” 

“Virgil, can I…” Roman tugs at his shirt. 

Virgil squeezes Logan’s hand one last time. He gently releases, then, and moves so Roman can be between the two of them. 

Virgil nestles his cheek against Roman’s shoulder, watching the two of them silently. 

“I want a queerplatonic relationship with you too,” Roman says. 

Something in Logan’s expression breaks, a crack of nerves and vulnerability. “What does that mean?” 

“Well,” Roman says. He places his hand down, palm up, and Logan tentatively settles his own in Roman’s grasp. Roman smiles with his eyes more than his lips, fingers lacing with Logan’s. “I want to hold your hand. I want to take stupid selfies with you. I want to sleep in the same bed, and take you on dates. I want Virgil there, too, but sometimes I just want the two of us. And… I want to try kissing, too.” 

Logan’s gaze is trained on their interlocked fingers. He swallows, throat bobbing. “I…” 

There’s a few beats of silence. 

“It’s okay to want things, Logan,” Virgil says. 

Roman makes a small noise of understanding, expression open. 

“I want that too,” Logan says. He rubs his thumb against the back of Roman’s hand, watching the movement. “I want the movie nights and to be able to say that you’re mine. A-and Virgil’s, too. I… want to try kissing, but not… not yet. This is all…” 

“That’s fine,” Roman says. Then he makes a face. “I mean, that’s good! It’s good to know boundaries.” 

“You’re okay with it?” Logan says. And then he finally looks up, and Virgil’s bowled over by the intensity of his gaze, in the abstract vulnerability of his expression. 

Roman tenses, then forces his shoulders to relax. “Of course I’m okay with it. I want a good relationship with you, Logan. That means communication.” 

Humor flickers across Logan’s face. He opens his mouth and says, “You’d know all about the importance of communication, huh?” 

Virgil snorts and hides his face in Roman’s shoulder. 

Roman sputters. “One minute in and he’s already making fun of me! Virgil, help me, your best friend is attacking me.” 

“Before midnight he’s your partner,” Virgil mumbles into Roman’s shirt. 

Roman gasps. Virgil has about three seconds to move but doesn’t do it fast enough, because Roman turns and tackles him against the couch, blowing raspberries all over his neck and collarbone. 

“Stop, stop!” Virgil tries to ward him off but Roman has the upper hand and is, unfortunately for all of them, the strongest. Virgil’s laughing, Roman’s hands creeping underneath his shirt and pressing against his sides. “Mercy, mercy!” 

“I am the best boyfriend you have ever had,” Roman says. He presses his full weight against Virgil. “Say it.” 

“You’re the _worst,”_ Virgil says. He can hear Logan stifling a laugh from the other side of the couch and beams in success. 

Then Roman squeezes his sides, fingers curling in all the _worst_ places, and Virgil gasps, squirming as laughter fills his lungs, spilling from his lips. “Ro-man!” 

“Say it!” 

“You’re the best -- the best--” Virgil can hardly breathe, he’s laughing so hard. He tries to curl up. “Roman!” 

“Do let him breathe, I would be devastated if you killed my best friend,” Logan says dryly. 

Roman sits up, giving Virgil a reprieve. Virgil inhales deeply, laughter still rattling around his bones. 

Roman turns, torso twisting, and seems to give Logan a _look._ Virgil can’t see either of their expressions, but he’s assuming it’s one of Roman’s pattonted _you’re next_ looks. “Just wait until we’ve established boundaries on the amount of touch you’re comfortable with. Then you’ll be sorry.” 

“How reassuring.” 

“He’s a great boyfriend,” Virgil speaks up. He lets the sarcasm filter through his voice. “Absolute sweetheart. Loves to pin you down so you can’t move or breathe. It’s a dream.” 

“You’re a menace,” Roman says. He turns back to look at Virgil, poking him in the stomach. 

“Aww,” Virgil says. He laces his fingers behind Roman’s neck, pulling him down and pressing their lips together. He smiles into the kiss, Roman melting against him and shifting to get a better angle. 

Virgil counts to three in his head, then _shoves_ Roman off of him. 

Roman stumbles to the ground, making a startled noise, and Virgil launches himself towards Logan, expertly twisting around him and settling in the small space between him and the armrest. 

Roman’s disheveled head pops up. He makes an unsavory expression. “Are you hiding behind my -- partner? Boyfriend? Do you want to use the term boyfriend?” 

“Boyfriend’s fine.” 

“Are you seriously hiding behind my boyfriend for protection?” 

Virgil hugs Logan’s arm to his chest. Logan’s quiet laughter rumbles, and Virgil sticks his tongue out at Roman. “Best friend rights.” 

“I cannot believe--” Roman flops back down on the couch, resting the back of his hand against his forehead. “I’m being teamed up on. My own boyfriends, working against me. The woes of life.” 

“A true tragedy,” Logan says. He says it with the same dryness as before, but Virgil can tell he’s pleased. He likes being important to Virgil, to Roman. In two different ways, yes, but that’s how relationships are, aren’t they? All of them are different in their own ways. 

“Roman,” Virgil says. Roman lifts his head and glances at him, blinking. Virgil grins. “If you’re done being a little bitch, wanna get us some popcorn?” 

Roman’s eyes widen, mouth opening in offense. He then rolls off the couch with a _thud._

“What -- Roman!” Virgil can’t stop the laugh from slipping through. 

“I’m dead,” Roman says. He groans from the ground. “I cannot move. You have killed me.” 

Logan moves his leg, probably nudging at Roman’s prone form. “I could explain exactly why Virgil’s words are incapable of causing physical harm, or you could go make some popcorn.” 

When Virgil looks, Logan’s smiling softly. 

“Very well,” Roman says. He pushes himself up with a groan, loud and obnoxious. “I will provide for my beaus as they request.” 

“Thanks babe,” Virgil says. When Roman’s standing fully he glances back at Virgil and Logan. 

Whatever he sees makes him soften, a gentle adoration settling in his eyes. “Indeed.” 

He bounds over to the two of them, leans down, and kisses Virgil on the lips. He touches Logan’s cheek, searching his gaze, and kisses him softly on the forehead. 

And then, well, he goes to the kitchen to make popcorn. 

Virgil laughs at the blush on Logan’s cheeks. He laughs harder when Logan frowns and tries to explain his way out of it. 

When Roman returns with popcorn and loud words, Virgil’s just. 

He’s so _happy._

And with a quietly glowing Logan beside him, the Roman and Logan arguing over what movie to watch… Virgil can barely contain his smile. 

He jumps into the argument, adding his own opinions, cackling when both of them roll their eyes. The three of them know each other better than anyone. 

And now that Logan and Roman aren’t dancing around each other anymore… 

Virgil’s happier than he’s ever been. 

\--

Patton doesn’t exactly know what to do anymore. 

Damian’s currently in his house and Patton has absolutely zero buffer, since Roman left with Logan to do -- _whatever,_ at Virgil’s place. 

And yes, Patton is feeling betrayed over this development. 

But at least Logan left a sturdy blanket fort. 

“Do you want to sit in it?” Patton asks. He feels around for the entrance, face warming when Damian leads his hand, fingers gentle around his wrist. 

“Sure,” Damian says. He laughs. “I haven’t done this since I was a child.” 

“Roman and I make it whenever we want to have a serious conversation,” Patton says. He smiles. “And just if we want to be comfortable.” 

“A serious conversation, huh?” Damian says. His fingers leave Patton’s wrist. Patton frowns at the lack of warmth, but starts nudging his way inside the fort. “What kind of serious conversation?”

“It was about you,” Patton says. His head bumps against a wall and he turns, gathering blankets and pillows around him for the Ultimate Comfort. “And some other things.” 

“Oh,” Damian breathes. There’s some shuffling, some movement, and then laughter. “Patton, you’ve stolen all the blankets.” 

“Oh no,” Patton says. _Oh no indeed._ Logan made this fort much smaller than Patton and Roman’s was originally, and he can feel the rumble of Damian’s voice and the warmth of his skin. 

Also, he doesn’t want to give up his blankets, not when he just got comfortable. “We can share,” he says resolutely, because that would be his solution with anyone else. 

Leave it to Patton to have brain worms because Damian is obviously not just _anyone else._ Not to Patton. 

“Okay,” Damian says. Patton tells himself that he’s imagining the breathless hitch in Damian’s voice. 

Damian moves carefully, tugging at the edges of blankets Patton cannot see, creating his own space within Patton’s space. 

Patton can’t breathe. Damian’s shoulder is brushing against his. He can feel Damian’s hand through the blankets. When Damian laughs, there’s a brush of air against his face, and Patton can’t breathe. 

“Serious talk time, right?” Damian says, and there’s a lilt to his voice. He’s making fun of him. 

Patton pouts. “I’ll have you know a blanket fort is a perfectly good place for a serious talk.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Damian says. He shifts, their arms lining up. “It’s very… intimate.” 

Patton’s mouth runs dry. He clears his throat, nestling into the blankets. There’s a few solid moments of silence, and Patton wishes he could just know what Damian is thinking. 

“Um, if I explain…” Damian starts. He’s hesitant, but Patton exhales in relief, not wanting to drag the story out of him. Damin continues, saying, “you have to promise not to judge, okay?” 

“Okay,” Patton agrees easily. 

“Okay,” Damian says. He sounds surprised, like he didn’t expect Patton to agree so easily. “Right. Um… well, Roman mentioned how I got involved in the book club, right…? But he doesn’t know the whole story. This is… a little embarrassing for me, so please just… wait until the end, I guess?” 

Nerves spark in Patton’s gut, but he nods, not saying anything. 

Damian exhales in preparation. His fingers brush against Patton’s, but before Patton can link them together, Damian pulls back, like it was an accident. 

“I was escaping fans when Roman pulled me into that room. And I like analyzing books, the themes can provide a good jumping point for lyrics, but I walked in that room and was completely blown away, because sitting at the table was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.” Damian fidgets next to him. 

Patton parts his lips, eyes wide. He wants to seek Damian out, to touch his cheek and jaw, but he restrains. 

“And then you talked, and just…” Damian sighs. “I realized I was a goner.” 

Patton blinks, eyelashes fluttering. He wonders how visible his blush is, because it feels like his face is on fire. 

“I wanted to keep returning because of you,” Damian says, and it’s like an arrow to Patton’s heart. 

Because of _him…?_

“Why?” 

The word escapes his lips before he can hold it back. He slaps a hand over his mouth moments after, making a small noise of regret. 

“Why?” Damian says, sounding confused. “Because you’re you, Patton. You’re beautiful. You have the most interesting mind, and I love hearing you talk. Because being around you is comforting. Because you care about everyone and say fascinating things about books. Just… because, Patton, because I love being around you. You’re so good and I’m…” 

“Oh,” Patton says smally. He doesn’t feel right, receiving all of this praise from Damian, like Patton’s an unattainable perfection. 

“No, I didn’t mean…” Damian makes a noise of frustration. His hand settles against Patton’s forearm. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Patton says immediately. He sighs, sinking into the blankets. “I’m not used to… positive reinforcement like that. Roman’s much more… tactile…”

“Oh,” Damian says. There’s a smile in his voice. “Well. If you still want me in your life, then I’ll provide much more verbal affirmations.” 

A warmth ignites in Patton’s chest. “I’d like that. But… you didn’t explain why you didn’t tell me about your… career.” 

“Ah,” Damian says. He’s quiet for a few long moments. Then: “I didn’t want you to think differently of me.” 

Patton hums. 

“Lots of celebrities and… rich people, I guess, have to worry about every relationship they have, because they can’t know if it’s because the other person wants opportunities, money, exposure, or if they genuinely like you. I… genuinely like you, Patton, and I wanted you to genuinely like me as _me._ Not as Damian Silver, or as Deceit, or whomever.” 

“But…” Patton starts. He frowns. This makes sense, it makes sense and Patton probably would not have interacted with him the same knowing that he’s a famous singer songwriter, but there’s… “But you are Damian Silver? That’s your name, right?” 

“I mean…” Damian hesitates. “Damian’s my middle name.” 

“Oh,” Patton says. 

“I like going by it better than my first name.” 

“Okay.” 

“My… my first name isn’t really public.” He’s quiet. “It’s… Janus. My name is Janus.” 

“Janus,” Patton says, trying the name on his tongue. It fits, somehow. 

Damian -- Janus? -- laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, it’s been awhile since I’ve heard that name.” 

“Do you want me to call you that? Janus?” Patton asks. 

“That…” he says. His voice is thick. “That’s fine.” 

“Okay.” Patton smiles. “Janus.” 

“Ha,” Janus says. His fingers tighten around Patton’s arm and he takes a long breath. “But for everything else… that’s it.” 

Patton thinks. And, well… “it makes sense. I’m just… a little hurt. I don’t know why.” 

“You should be,” Janus says. Then he sputters, saying, “wait, no, I mean, I don’t _want_ you to feel badly about it. I just, you have the right to, because I hid who I was from you.” 

“It’s okay,” Patton says. He reaches with his other hand, covering Janus’s hand. He swallows. Tries for a smile. “You’re still my favorite. I still like you.” 

Janus laughs like he can’t believe it. “You’re so good, Patton.” 

A thought strikes Patton and he flushes. No way. He’s _not_ asking if Janus really writes songs about him. It’s an embarrassing question, for both of them. 

He… he is curious, though. Just a little. 

“D -- Janus,” Patton says. 

Janus’s hand jumps underneath his own. “Yes?”

“When you said you thought I was -- um.” Patton licks his lips, biting at the skin. “The -- the most beautiful man you’d ever seen…” Good lord, there’s no way Patton’s making it through this alive. His face feels like it’s on fire, like a living breathing phoenix is living in his chest. “Um… did you mean you like me?”

There’s quiet. 

“Um, because, I like you,” Patton says, and _there it is._ Out in the open, for anyone to see. He takes a breath, shakey. “Romantically. Like… a lot, I guess? But if you don’t, feel the same, it’s…”

Janus moves his hand out from underneath Patton’s. The lack of skin to skin contact only persists for a second, because Janus’s fingers brush against Patton’s jawline. 

He can feel breath on his lips, warm. Janus’s hands take a stronger hold on Patton’s face, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape of Patton’s neck. 

“I… Can I…” Janus is close, so close. Patton thinks, if he focuses, he can imagine the velvet press of Janus’s lips against his. 

Patton nods, once, and then he doesn’t have to imagine. 

Patton turns his head to get a better angle, the two of them slotting together perfectly. Like Patton’s mouth was made to fit Janus’s, and vice versa. 

It’s not perfect -- Patton’s teeth clack against Janus’s in a singular moment of excitement, and Janus presses a little too hard against Patton, tongue grazing just outside of his mouth. 

Patton feels like a supernova all the same. 

Janus pulls away and Patton chases his mouth before he knows what he’s doing. He flushes in embarrassment, doubled when he realizes that a string of saliva connects their mouths after separating like in a comic. 

“Ah,” Janus murmurs. Patton’s hands are pressed against his chest. He can feel the rise and fall of each breath Janus takes. 

Words fly from Patton’s mind. He traces the outline of Janus’s chest, trailing up to his shoulder and the edge of his neck. Janus’s breath hitches as Patton continues his exploration. 

“Is this okay?” Patton asks. _Okay to touch?_ He knows some people don’t like touch, that they prefer other forms of affection. His fingers are stationary at the base of Janus’s neck. 

“It’s fine,” Janus says. His own hands draw up and settle against Patton’s shoulders. “It’s okay for me too, right?” 

“Yes,” Patton breathes out. He edges his fingers along Janus’s hairline, burying them in the strands. Janus turns his head and smiles, his mouth against Patton’s palm, eyelashes fluttering in butterfly kisses. 

Patton’s throat goes thick. His hands are shaky, for some reason, everything connecting together in his brain. From Janus’s voice to his _singing_ voice to the way he’s always aware of Patton, giving Patton his own personal spotlight. How Janus laughs and how Patton just feels beautiful by hearing it.

“Can you… describe yourself?”

“What I look like?” Janus hums. The sound vibrates against Patton’s fingers. Patton revels in the feeling, in being able to touch. 

Patton nods. 

“Hm.” Janus is quiet for a few moments and Patton enjoys the silence just as much as their words. Every moment is striking in its own way. 

“I have a sharp nose,” Janus says. Patton smooths his hands over Janus’s shoulders as he speaks, barely thinking but embracing the warmth. Janus nestles into his touch like it’s all he’s ever known, and continues. “I have a skin condition on the left half of my face. I’m pale, and burn like nothing else in the sunlight.” 

Patton smiles. “That’s not very poetic. Aren’t you a song writer?” 

“It’s my face, Patton,” Janus says. Patton can hear the amusement, clear as day. “Not a painting. Not a feeling. Not a moment.” 

“I suppose,” Patton says. He grins, and says, “my eyes are blue as the crystal sea, my hair as red as fire and flames.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Then: “You know that… your eyes are brown… right? And that you have dark brown, curly hair?”

Patton gasps in mock horror. “But -- Roman told me that my eyes were like emeralds, glinting in the sunlight, my hair a blaze.” 

“Emeralds are green, Patton.” 

“What did I say?” Patton laughs. “Wait, wait, I said blue. I meant sapphires. Aquamarines. Lapis lazuli.”

Laughter bubbles from Janus’s throat. “You’re something else.”

“Wait, wait, but -- don’t stop,” Patton implores. He taps Janus’s shoulders. 

“Okay…” Janus breathes. “Like I said, sharp nose, skin condition… my hair is naturally a muddy brown, but I dye it blonde… I have hazel eyes.”

“Jawline sharp enough to cut glass,” Patton murmurs. The laughter in his voice fades into something deeper. “Gentle voice.”

“Narrow shoulders,” Janus says. “My bottom lip is fuller than the top. Sometimes in the summertime I have freckles.”

Patton’s fingers tighten on the fabric of Janus’s shirt. It’s like everything is building inside of him, a big mess of emotions too daunting to handle. Nothing Janus is saying is particularly heart wrenching, Patton’s just… he’s just… 

“You’re beautiful,” Patton says, and his choked up feeling slips out. 

Janus makes a small noise, imploringly. He tugs Patton’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his palm. 

Patton squeaks. 

Patton’s going to explode. He just knows it. Janus is going to make him explode. 

Janus kisses his palm again, this time smiling against his skin. “That’s really cute.” 

“Noo…” Patton protests. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Janus’s. 

Janus freezes up. 

“You’re cute,” Patton says. Then he presses forward and kisses whatever his lips come in contact with. It ends up being the corner of Janus’s mouth, and Janus makes a wounded sound. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Janus says. 

Patton giggles against Janus’s cheek, kissing him again. 

“Agh,” Janus says. His arms snake around Patton’s torso and he falls backwards, dragging Patton down with him. Patton falls with a yelp, hands flying out to catch himself. He lands on Janus, the lengths of their bodies pressed together, chest to chest. 

“Janus!” Patton says, breathless laughter falling from his lips. 

“Mmhmm?” Janus hums. His chest rumbles and Patton melts against him. He drops his head against Janus’s shoulder, sighing happily. 

“Oh?” Janus says, tone mischievous. “Comfortable?” 

“So comfortable,” Patton mumbles. His fingers tighten around the fabric of Janus’s shirt. It’s like he’s lying on a soft space heater. 

Janus’s arms, still circled around him, tighten. His hands press into Patton’s back, nose nuzzling his hair. He’s humming a quiet tune, each note warming Patton, sending him into a deeper comfort than before. 

_I love you,_ Patton thinks but doesn’t say. It’s too early. It’s much too early. But he’ll hold the words close to his chest until the time comes. He’ll wait. He’ll wait forever for Janus. 

“I really like you,” Janus says. The words whisper against Patton’s ear. 

Patton smiles, burrowing tighter into Janus’s hold. “I really like you too.” 

“Be my boyfriend?” 

Patton breathes. He thinks. “Will it be okay?” 

_With your reputation? With your job?_

Will Patton be safe? 

“Yes,” Janus says. He sighs. “We can figure it out. Right now I just want to hold you.” 

And, well. 

Patton can’t argue with that. 

So he lies in Janus’s arms, blankets and pillows surrounding their forms, breathing the same air. He kisses the side of Janus’s face and Janus laughs, kissing the corner of Patton’s eye. 

They lie there. They kiss, they breathe, they whisper against skin and mouths. 

And they’re good. 

Everything is so, so good. 

Patton wouldn’t give it up for the world. 


End file.
